Barricade the doors and prepare your materials. For the head, a clutch of cables stripped down to their raw copper cores carrying shudders of memory. For eyes and ears, a twist of coaxials and a flicker of fiber optics. Zip tie at random to provide an illusion of control. No mouth because you never spoke out even when you thought you might. Craft fingers from the cheap cigarettes you bought though split peas were cheaper and the soup would have nourished you at least a little. For lungs, a handful of the split peas you ought to have bought, closed up in a tin. They should rattle. For the belly, a wad of diary pages. Use gloves, they will be mucky. For legs, stack the contents of your worst-day bedroom floor, from books up to bottles. Determine that whatever direction they tilt is forward. For feet, use the boots, the ones that could coax a tango from a tilt. For the heart, an envelope to enclose the shadows you loved. Their subjects were only distractions. …